Life blogging

After coming home from work tonight, I started what has become my online routine. Check email. Attend to or schedule necessary business. Berate myself for communications left unattended. Check Facebook. Open blog. Try to write something. Get disgusted with myself for having absolutely nothing worth saying. Go check LOLCats for a laugh in superficial attempt to better mood. Play Bejeweled. Read blog subscriptions. Then become amazed at how many of my longtime friends are still writing beautiful, meaningful blogs after all these years.

I've been wondering why keeping up this blog has become so difficult. I love my little piece of cyberspace. I've tried to tend it well over the years. It may be just a blog, but it's been a positive thing in my life, and I don't like leaving it idle. I think I've come upon at least a partial answer. It's hard to keep a personal blog when the person writing it is so unsure about who she is now.

I look at the major themes of my life and thus this blog. In no order at all (because prioritizing my personal life is still so damn hard): Spirituality -- still in my life, but not quite sure just what it is now, Motherhood -- same thing, Marriage -- only memories now and too complex for a public venue, Animals -- fewer than ever, but still a lot of comfort, hair and poop, Depression -- still lurking, somewhat under control by sheer force of will, Weight and body image -- nothing new or positive to say, Writing -- hard to write about what's not happening, Food -- hard to wax rhapsodic about frozen dinners for one most of the time, And so it goes with just about everything else.

The key words there seem to be "nothing new or positive to say." The unspoken subtext is the fear of saying anything not positive. If I open that door just a little bit, I'm afraid it will bust open like some cartoon overstuffed closet, and I'll be buried in those fears. I know they're there. Occasionally a few will slip out under the bottom edge of the door and come slithering around my legs. I can deal with that. One or two at a time, I can stare down, weapons drawn, ready to battle. All of them once -- I'm just not that brave.

With so much of my life unsettled, I'm working damn hard to focus on my not inconsiderable strengths to build a better life. Part of this is reclaiming the me I used to be before so much change hit. Part of this is trying to decide who the me I want to become will be. Part of me wonders just how much choice I really have in the matter. Stories of transformation are interesting after the change has taken place and the victory achieved. The actual day to day of transformation is the messy, repetitive, often boring part. There's a reason why movies often handle this in montage. That's where I am now.

I know though that writing will be in the picture, and I've been reminded that writing well is not for the fearful. To beat this particular fear down, I must get back to the keyboard and get pen in hand. The weapons I need are close at hand. I just need practice again.

Since I've actually written a blog entry tonight, I can go on to the next part of my online routine -- Italian lessons. I want Tuscany in my future, so I'm starting to learn the language now. Io me chiamo Cynthia. In this new, unsure language and phase of life, I'm at the beginning of knowing again who I am.